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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732799">a guilty conscience needs no accuser</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crateofkate/pseuds/crateofkate'>crateofkate</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Angst, Eskel Has A Sad Wank, Fantasizing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Unrequited Crush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,892</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732799</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crateofkate/pseuds/crateofkate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Eskel would love Jaskier with his whole being, his entire core. He’d want for nothing with Eskel at his side, rich silks and expensive wines, nights at inns performing for the crowds, and then performing for each other later on in private. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>Their first winter together at Kaer Morhen, Eskel comes to a surprising realization about Geralt's bard.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>375</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a guilty conscience needs no accuser</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many blessings to <a href="https://childoffantasy.tumblr.com/">Shannie</a> for being my virtual assistant, and <a href="https://whataboutthefish.tumblr.com/">Fishie</a> for turning this into something legible.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Bez potrzeby wymówka, gotowe oskarżenie </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Winter has fallen heavily over the Blue Mountains, and the keep of Kaer Morhen is no exception. The pass back down has been obstructed for weeks by swirling snows as deep as Eskel’s hip. The inhabitants of the castle have settled in, merry in the evening with stories, good drink, and better company. Days are reserved for repairs and training; no use letting their minds and bodies grow soft and complacent, even with the outside world blocked by the ice of the north. </p><p>Eskel himself has retired for the night to his bedroom; he’s occupied this space since the winter following his first year on the path. Over the years he’s filled it with memories and trinkets, souvenirs of hunts and the newer trend of tokens of appreciation. A welcome, if truly baffling change, as the heroic tales of The White Wolf, and the rest of them by association, spread up and down the continent. Ballads of good deeds and brave warrior-witchers could be found in almost every populated area, from the smallest of towns to the larger cities. The man responsible was currently spending his first season hunkered in with the rest of them.</p><p>As he lay on his bed, boots discarded, down to only his warm sleep clothes, Eskel slowly began to stroke his fingers lightly, up and down his belly, across from one hip to the other. He allowed his mind to drift over the events of the day, the morning spent fixing a hole in the eastern wall with Vesemir, the simple lunch of bread and stew, and the early afternoon spar he’d had in the courtyard with Geralt.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The goal was not to maim, but simply to keep reflexes fast and tight, so the clash of steel became more about speed and agility versus a show of brute strength. Jaskier was bundled up in his warm but ostentatious fur cloak, the hood pulled up around his head to block the biting wind that could be felt even here, in the middle of the keep. He’d insisted on following Geralt and Eskel out to watch their training several times since the snows had set in, claiming he found great delight in watching the way their bodies moved through the motions of a faux skirmish. Neither Witcher was fooled however; the smell of lust rolled off Jaskier like incense, heavy and dark, and it only grew thicker as the heat of their mock-battle swelled.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> After an hour, both men stepped back for a quick break. Eskel used the hem of his shirt to mop the sweat from his brow and took a deep drink of his water skin, while Geralt wandered over to bother Jaskier. The bard, who was not sleight by any means, but somehow seemed so when engulfed by the fur of his cloak, happily snuck his hands out from their cocoon of warmth to run his fingers down Geralt’s cheek.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Having fun?” Jaskier murmured, fingers tapping a rhythm as they swept along Geralt’s cheekbone. Eskel could hear Geralt’s quiet chuckle, as he raised his hand to tangle their fingers together and pecked the tip of Jaskier’s red nose with his mouth. </em>
</p><p><em> He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such a look of open tenderness on Geralt’s face; maybe he’d never. Eskel tuned them out as their voices grew intimate, not wishing to intrude on this private moment between the two lovers. Still, he found himself glancing over as he took a few test swings of his sword, envying the naked affection written all over Jaskier’s face. What he wouldn’t give to be on the other end of that look, he berated himself internally even as he mentally implored Jaskier’s eyes to slide over his way. </em> See me <em> , he thought. </em> See me too<em>.  </em></p><p>
  <em> “I have to get back to it. You should head inside before you freeze,” Geralt said to Jaskier, reaching out to tug the hood of the cloak further up and over his ears. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You could always warm me up?” Jaskier replied, smiling with his tongue between his teeth and shooting Geralt a salacious wink. The Witcher only responded with a light cuff to the back of the cheeky bard’s head. “Fine, alright. I can take a hint--” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No you can’t.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No I can’t, but in this particular case, I’ll not bite the hand that, ah, feeds me.” Jaskier hopped down off the fence he’d been perched on and pulled Geralt in for one final kiss. “I’ll see you at dinner, darling.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Eskel’s mind snaps back to the present as the sound of a loud crash and a throaty laugh came from the hallway outside his room. Even through the heavy wooden door he can smell the slight sulfur of the hot spring that resided beneath the keep, the perfume of Jaskier’s soaps, and the unmistakable aroma of twin desires making their way to the room they share at the top of the tower. </p><p>He takes a deep breath and resumes the light touches to his own skin, conjuring the image of a buxom redhead he made a point to visit whenever he passed through Belhaven. She was heavy in the chest and thighs and had the smallest hands he’d ever seen. His cock always looked enormous in her grasp, something that delighted the primal part of his brain. Her tight ginger curls would bounce in the air while she rode him, and it never failed to hypnotize. She wasn’t quick to kick him out afterwards, either, and he was able to indulge the need to touch. Zuzanna, was her name, and he thought of her now as a heat began to stir within himself. The apples of her cheeks, the slight gap between her two front teeth, the brown of her eyes. She had a mole on her left breast that he liked to suck on, and two dimples above her ass that made excellent holds for his thumbs.</p><p>The last time he’d seen her had been over a year ago, as he’d traveled back and forth through Redania and Temeria dealing with a sudden surge in the population of wyverns. The contracts had kept him flush with coin over the months, the need for company taking a back seat to the call of the Path. </p><p>Eskel pictures her kneeling now between his legs, running her hands up and down the scarred skin of his thighs before pushing them apart. Her blue eyes twinkled-</p><p><em> Stop.</em> </p><p>Zuzanna’s eyes were <em> not </em> blue, but the color of warm, melted chocolate. Blue eyes had no place in this bedroom, and Eskel shakes his head to rid himself of the image. Unsettled, he casts his thoughts out further and into tomorrow. He has plans to go hunting with Lambert, and there is a new book Vesemir had picked up during his last tour of the Skellige Islands he’s been looking forward to paging through. His mind begins to relax once more and he resumes the caress of his abdomen, fingers strumming a tune known only to himself. </p><p><em> You could always warm me up? </em> The memory slips back in, but this time, Eskel is looking up at the naked look of want on Jaskier’s face, instead of spying from twenty feet away. In his mind, Jaskier’s hands traced the seam of his facial scars with a reverence he’d never known in reality. <em> What do you say, Eskel? How about you skiv off training for the rest of the day, and we go rub the feeling back into our extremities in front of the hearth in your room? </em></p><p>Jaskier leans forward, bracing his hands on Eskel’s shoulders to gently bring their mouths together. Eskel groans at the first touch of that imaginary tongue, wicked and sharp even in this. His hands came up to grasp Jaskier's hips through the fur of his cloak, pulling them forward so their groins were no more than a hairsbreadth away. Jaskier’s arms move to drape lightly around Eskel’s neck, fingers digging into the hair at his nape and giving the gentlest of pulls. </p><p>The fantasy shifts suddenly, and Eskel finds himself being pressed into the fur rug in front of the fireplace. The heavy fur cloak is gone, as are their boots and Eskel’s other training gear. Jaskier is straddling his legs, the laces of his pants undone and his shirt hanging off one shoulder. <em> Eskel’s shirt.</em> </p><p><em> That’s it darling, relax for me. I’m going to take such good care of you, </em> Jaskier croons quietly, and Eskel bucks into the imaginary bard sitting atop his thighs. He hand wanders down, finally, and he grinds his cock into the heel of his palm before reaching into his breeches to grasp it firmly. Jaskier leans in and licks up Eskel’s neck, tonguing at the scars that stretch from temple to chin. <em> Beautiful, darling Eskel. I love you. </em></p><p>Eskel slams his eyes shut, guilt washing over him because. Because. The feeling of jealousy permeates him down to his core. Why should Geralt, with all his brutishness, get to bask in the adoration of the cheerful young man? What has Geralt, of all of them, done to deserve such loyalty and unwavering focus. Eskel. It should have been Eskel.</p><p>Eskel would love Jaskier with his whole being, his entire core. He’d want for nothing with Eskel at his side, rich silks and expensive wines, nights at inns performing for the crowds, and then performing for each other later on in private. </p><p>As fast as the anger comes on, so it gives way to shame. Geralt is his <em> brother </em>. How can Eskel betray him like this, even in the confines of his own mind? Gods, but he’s really the worst. A stain among Witchers, to covet the single piece of happiness that his brother has managed to find in all the years he’s traversed the Path. </p><p>If he must be damned, however, he may as well earn it, and his mind once again falls into the fantasy. Jaskirt’s shirt is discarded now, as is his own, and he spits into his hand before reaching into Eskel’s breeches to run those talented fingers over the head of Eskel’s cock. <em> I love this about you, dearest. You’re so responsive at the lightest of touches. I want to tie you down and play you like an instrument, see what kind of songs I can call forth while you writhe for me.  </em></p><p>Eskel shoves his pants down to his knees, fully taking himself in hand while the Jaskier of his imagination does the same. He pictures reaching a hand in and pulling Jaskier’s cock from the confines of his breeches, pulling at his hips until the pretty pink head is hovering over his mouth. He plants a chaste kiss over the slit, licking at the bead of precome that has formed, basking in the taste of salt and <em> male.</em></p><p>Jaskier would love this, he thinks, to push his cock past Eskel’s lips, rub against the soft skin of his palette and down into his throat. Gods, but he would worship Jaskier this way, going to his knees on command, just to take him deep and let Jaskier fuck his face. </p><p>He contents himself with the fantasy of sucking, the phantom feeling of a cock sliding back and forth on his tongue, for a few more minutes, before allowing the image to change once more. </p><p>They’re both naked now, down to skin and sweat. The conjured Jaskier of his mind takes hold of Eskel’s hands and pushes them up and over his head, moving them so they’re crossed at the wrist. The implication is clear: no touching. <em> That’s it, my heart. You hold just like that. What a lovely thing you are, showing yourself off for me. I think you deserve a reward, hmm? </em></p><p>Jaskier licks his way down Eskel’s body, stopping periodically to lavish attention on one scar or another, all while murmuring whispers of his bravery, his righteousness, his beauty. Finally, after what seems like hours, he arrives at Eskel’s cock, standing straight and proud, as if saying <em> look at me</em>! Jaskier leans in and nuzzles at the base with his nose, taking a deep breath as if to imprint the scent of Eskel into his memory. With a sly smirk, he bypasses Eskel’s cock entirely to take one of his balls into his mouth, rolling it back and forth like a delicious sweet. His hands come up to fondle the second one, and to take a firm grip of the base of his cock. </p><p>“Fuck!” he says aloud, as the strokes of his own hand take on a furious rhythm. Gods, but Jaskier would look absolutely ethereal with Eskel’s cock in his mouth. Those red lips were made to be stretched and plundered, those eyes meant to be filled with tears and hunger. </p><p>Jaskier, in his mind, takes pity on him then, and proceeds to swallow his cock whole. Eskel can feel the muscles of his throat working overtime as Jaskier tries his best to swallow him down. A hard suck has Eskel’s hips jerking off the bed, and suddenly the wet suction of Jaskier’s mouth becomes the tight heat of his ass, as the bard settles over him and gives him a good squeeze.</p><p>Eskel groans, jerks his arms before he catches himself, wanting nothing more than to grab those lithe hips and press his fingers in until their bruise, to leave some mark of this night upon Jaskier’s body. Jaskier seems to sense this desire and leans over to kiss him, a frantic meeting of mouths that quickly devolves into a fight of teeth and tongues. He moves back to straighten his spine, bracing his hands behind himself on Eskel’s shins and begins to ride. Slowly, while he figures out an angle that suits him, and then faster once he finds what he was looking for. Jaskier throws his head back, crying out, and Eskel can’t wait anymore. He breaks the imaginary hold on his wrists and surges forward to wrap both arms around Jaskier, one at his waist and one around his shoulders. Jaskier’s eyes open, filled with naked want as he pulls his arms forward to wrap around Eskel’s neck. He leans in, pressing their foreheads together, never breaking eye contact as their pace increases, the furiously obscene slap of skin echoing throughout the room. <em> Eskel Eskel Eskel I love you. </em></p><p>With a sharp cry, Eskel comes, seed shooting upwards and over his stomach, over his fingers, a dozen long and furious spurts. He falls backwards, the tightness that had come about his limbs relaxing suddenly, and his brain feels thick like syrup. Absently, he swipes his fingers through the spend on his belly, rubbing it into his own skin with the tips of his fingers. </p><p>The guilt surges back without warning, and he heaves a sigh before getting up to retrieve a fresh shirt from his wardrobe. He wipes himself down with a cloth from his wash basin and shucks the old one off and throws it in the corner to be dealt with later. He throws himself back onto his bed and drags his hands over his face. Sleep.</p><p>Maybe things will be clearer in the morning. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Eskel groans as he comes awake, kicking the furs and blankets that covered his body down to the foot of the bed. He sits up and stretches his arms over his head, twisting his spine until it makes a satisfying cracking noise. As he swings his legs over the side of the mattress, the following evening comes back to him all at once, and he drops his head into his hands.</p><p>What in Melitele’s name is <em> wrong </em>with him, that he had to stoop so low as to fantasize about his brother’s lover to bring himself off? Just because Jaskier was - </p><p>No, enough is enough. He’s had his fun the previous night, and it is time to let this silly daydream evaporate away. With a shake of his head, Eskel gets up and begins to get ready for the day, all while thinking only of what he has to do next. <em> Breakfast. Hunting. Reading. Breakfast. Hunting. Reading.  </em></p><p>His immediate plans are instantly foiled as he enters the dining hall to find none other than the object of his desires and the physical manifestation of his guilt sharing a plate at the end of the table. Jaskier is perched on Geralt’s knee like it is his rightful place, humming as he plaits small braids into Geralt’s hair, sneaking bits from the platter while Geralt pretends not to notice. </p><p>“Good morning, Eskel!” Jaskier chirps as he spots the other Witcher enter the room. The wave of guilt washes over him anew, and he manages to grimace in their direction without truly making eye contact. Fuck it, he should eat elsewhere. He grabs a plate for himself and begins to pile it high with bread and dried meats, an apple and a handful of figs. </p><p>Geralt looks over at him with narrowed, knowing eyes, and Eskel suddenly wonders if he’s gained mind reading powers during his last year on the Path. Another flame of guilt, of shame, and Eskel finds himself stuffing a roll into his mouth to keep the apologies from spilling out, raising a hand in a quick greeting before retreating like a coward.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://crateofkate.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> if you're into that</p></blockquote></div></div>
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